


The Substance of Things Hoped For

by hannasus



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 3x23, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Missing Scene, Season 3 Finale, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannasus/pseuds/hannasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before they leave on their road trip, Felicity and Oliver have a much-needed heart-to-heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Substance of Things Hoped For

**Author's Note:**

> I swear when I started writing this, it was going to be smut, but then somehow it turned into angsty hurt/comfort instead. Oops. The heart wants what it wants, I guess.

Felicity paces nervously, from one end of her apartment to the other. Bedroom to living room. Living room to kitchen. Kitchen back to bedroom.

She’s supposed to be packing, but instead she seems to be wandering around aimlessly like a crazy person.

Her suitcase lies open on the floor next to an impractically large pile of shoes. Her bed is strewn with clothes she’s pulled out of her closet and then abandoned in indecision. And she’s standing here freaking out over nothing.

 _Everything’s fine now,_ Felicity reminds herself, repeating the phase in her head like a mantra. _Everything’s fine. Everything fine. Everything’s fine._

It’s finally over. Everyone she loves is safe. She can relax. She can let out the breath she’s been holding for last few months.

She thought she had. When Oliver told her he wanted to be with her—that he was giving up his mission so they could be together—all the fear she’d been living with for so long seemed to melt completely away. She felt lighter than air. Giddy with hope, for the first time in years. Happy. Everything was fine. Better than fine. It was perfect.

Until Oliver left again.

She’s being ridiculous, of course. He isn’t really gone. He’s not in any danger. He just went back to the loft to pack and say goodbye to his sister. He shouldn’t be gone more than an hour or two, tops. He’s coming right back. And then they’ll be together, for real this time—for keeps. No supervillains to get in the way and no city in need of saving. They can be normal couple. Just two people in love, driving off into the sunset.

She should be happy—ecstatic, even. So why is she so anxious?

She takes a deep breath and tries to summon a happy image of Oliver: the smile on his face after they made love for the first time. It was a revelation, that smile. She’d never seen him look at her like that before—she never knew he _could_ look at her like that.

But that just reminds her of why they were there in the first place. Which reminds her of Ra’s and the League, which reminds her of having to say goodbye to Oliver and leave him there, which reminds her that he was planning to die the whole time they were together—to crash a freaking plane and leave her alone forever to grieve over him.  

Which is when the tears start. And quickly devolve into big, ugly, racking sobs that leave her gasping for breath. She backs up against the dresser and sinks to the floor, clutching her knees to her chest as images of Oliver in peril fill her mind, crowding out everything else. Oliver with a sword through his chest. Chained and tortured in Nanda Parbat. His burned and mangled body in the wreckage of a plane crash. Sniper’s bullets tearing through his chest. Plummeting hundreds of feet to his death with no one there to catch him.

In the midst of this breakdown, Felicity hears the front door open, and then Oliver calls out her name. She swipes at her face, futilely trying to hide the evidence of her tears, but she can’t even manage to choke back the sobs still erupting from her throat.

“Felicity?” Oliver appears in the bedroom doorway, and then he’s at her side, kneeling on the floor and gathering her into his arms.

She curls her whole body into his, burying her face in his chest and crying even harder.

“Felicity, what’s wrong?” he asks, alarmed. “Felicity—” He tilts her face up to his, searching for answers in her tear-clouded eyes. “—you have to tell me what happened.”

“Nuh—nothing,” she stammers. “Nothing happened. It’s just—you were gone—and then I—” She breaks off, overcome by another bout of choking sobs.

“Okay,” he says softly, tucking her head under his chin. “I know. It’s okay.” He shifts so he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the dresser and pulls her into his lap, encircling her with his arms like a life preserver. “We’re okay,” he murmurs as she clings to him. “I’m here now. It’s okay. Just let it out.”

He holds her like that for a long time, rocking her and stroking her hair until her sobs slowly die out. “I’m sorry,” she croaks into his chest when she can finally breathe again. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was fine and the next—”

“It’s a delayed stress reaction,” he tells her. “Re-entry can be bumpy, after everything that’s happened.”

She sniffles and rubs her face on his shirtfront, because it’s already a lost cause at this point and anyway the nearest tissues are all the way in the bathroom and no way is she getting out of his lap right now. “Sorry, your shirt’s kind of a disgusting mess.”

He laughs, the sound of it rumbling pleasantly against her cheek. “Lucky for me I’ve got a whole suitcase full of clean shirts in the next room.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and nestles deeper into his chest. “I wanted our first night back together to be all happiness and rainbows, not snotty cryfests.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” he says, his arms tightening around her protectively. “For everything I’ve put you through this year. This is all my fault.”

She pulls away enough to look him in the eye. “It kind of is,” she agrees.

He winces like she’s just struck him. “Felicity—”

“No, Oliver,” she cuts in. “You were going to _die._ That was your big stupid plan. For months, you’ve been going along, totally planning to die and you _didn’t tell me,_ ” she says, her voice rising with every word. She’s moved on from scared to angry now, because apparently she’s going through _all_ the emotions tonight. “How am I supposed to trust you again after that? How am I ever supposed to believe you, when you tell me you’re coming back? You were at Thea’s for all of an hour and I fell completely apart thinking something bad was going to happen to you.”

Instead of looking away or trying to make excuses, he holds her gaze with a sober, pained expression. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Felicity. I know I’ll never be able to make it up to you.”

Most of her anger has drained away now that she’s said her piece. Not quite all of it, though. She lays her hand against his cheek, savoring the familiar scrape of bristle. “You _can_ make it up to me, actually.”

His eyes close briefly as he leans into her touch, and he nods, earnest and penitent. “How?”

“By swearing to me that you’ll never do it again. No matter what happens—because you know something is going to happen sooner or later to drag you back in—” He opens his mouth to protest but she shakes her head and barrels on. “Your sister, your best friend, and your ex-girlfriend are all masked vigilantes, Oliver, something is going to go wrong eventually, and we have to be realistic about that. But no matter how bad it seems, I need you to promise me you’ll always be honest with me.”

He reaches up to trace her jawline with his thumb. “I want to,” he says sadly. “But I don’t know if that’s a promise I can keep.”

“You have to.” She clasps his hand and presses it against her cheek. “I’m not saying you always have to tell me everything. It’s okay if there are things you don’t want to talk about—things you can’t talk about. But you have to be honest enough to tell me when there are things you can’t tell me.”

He nods again, and she lets go of his hand.

“And you can’t,” she goes on, punctuating the words by pressing her index finger into his sternum, “under any circumstances whatsoever, come up with any more plans that involve sacrificing yourself—not without consulting me first. That is 100 percent non-negotiable, buster. If we’re really going to be partners, we have to face things together. That is the only way this is ever going to work.” She pauses, meeting his eye to make sure he’s really listening, because this next part is big. “I can’t do this halfway with you, Oliver. There are no half measures for me anymore where you’re concerned. So you’re either all in or you’re all out. I need you to tell me now if you’re not going to live up to your half of the bargain.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and then he takes her face in both his hands, reverently, as if she were a piece of spun glass or a priceless jewel. “I’m all in,” he says solemnly, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “I promise I will never again give you any reason to doubt me, Felicity. From now on, I will always be honest with you. I swear to you.”

She presses her forehead against his, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that are threatening to make an encore appearance. “Oh thank god,” she breathes. “Because I really need you not to leave me again.”

She wants to say she wouldn’t survive it, but that would be a lie. She knows she can survive it because she already has—twice. But she also knows exactly how much it will cost her, and it’s not a price she ever wants to pay again.

“I’m all yours,” he promises, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “For as long as you want me.”

“That’s definitely going to be forever,” she assures him.

He crooks a finger under her chin and tilts her face up to his. His expression is so open and vulnerable it steals her breath away. He’s laying himself bare before her, and she’s awestruck by what a gift it is, because she knows it doesn’t come easily for him.

“I love you,” he says, his voice cracking a little on the second word. “And I’m going to spend every day from this day forward proving it to you.”

And then he kisses her, deep and tender and slow.

It’s their first real kiss since he came back—since their one desperate night of bliss in the middle of a nightmare. Sure, there were a couple of other kisses earlier today, stolen in the moments between saving the city and saving each other. But they don’t really count. They were all too rushed, too cautious, too uncertain.

But _this_ —this is the real thing. It’s like he’s breathing life back into her.

In a way, it feels like coming home, which is weird, because she’s not the one who left. But there it is. For the first time in a very long time Felicity feels like everything’s right with the world. Like she’s exactly where she belongs.

Oliver’s arms tighten around her, and then he’s lifting her and carrying her to the bed. She throws her arms around his neck and laughs, breathless, as something warm and wonderful unfurls in her chest.

 _Oh right,_ she thinks. _Happiness. Welcome back, old friend._


End file.
